Symphony of Hearts
by Emerald S. Sparrow
Summary: Christine awakens the morning after she chooses Erik to find herself on a ship. When she learns Erik intends to return her to Raoul over a misunderstanding, she endeavors to convince him of her love for only him. A short but passionate E/C story.
1. Melody of Misunderstanding

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing that you recognize from Phantom; it belongs to RUG and ALW and Kay and Leroux… you know the drill. I am making no profit from this story.

Author's Notes: _I've done my fair share of Raoul-bashing in the past – Project Phantom, anyone? – but since the "sequel" has effectively done the ultimate Raoul-bashing, I think it would just be cruel for me to do so here. But, to make sure I don't succumb to temptation, he won't even make an appearance in this story; just in conversations of him._

_But most important, perhaps, is the rating. Those of you familiar with my writing (perhaps in other fandoms) have known me to write some pretty detailed love scenes. At this point in time that is not going to be the case, though it IS rated M for a reason. There will be intimate scenes, but not full on lovemaking, and the reason will become clear later. I just didn't want a breathless audience waiting for a drawn out love scene, because there are no plans for it at this time. (As I write this first chapter I am debating now, lol. It's become second nature to me to include a love scene… I had only planned for five chapters in this tale but perhaps a sixth with a love scene would do quite nicely. Reviewers, let it be your choice!)_

_Finally, I want to thank the U.S. Tour cast of __**Phantom of the Opera**__, for giving me the inspiration to write a Phantom phic for the first time in a long time! Namely, Tim Martin Gleason, whose Phantom left me breathless and awe-inspired, and Trista Maldovan's Christine whose voice was pure and clear, and whose character was fragile yet determined. I left the Theatre with make-up utterly ruined, my friends!_

C~E~C~E

The nightmares had lasted throughout the night. In that place between as she rose through layers of sleep, Christine could see the violent images of her dreams. None of them were vague, more like startling alternate versions of reality. She'd dreamed of choosing her Phantom, her Angel. Of kissing his surprisingly soft lips again and again, until Raoul dragged her away against her will and threw her into the boat. She dreamed of Raoul calling for the angry mob of the opera, calling them in until they surrounded Erik, and she was forced to watch him being shot over and over. All of them consisted of Raoul hurting Erik in some fatal way, leaving her arms empty of her Angel of Music. As the streaming sunlight hit her eyes, she tried to remember what was truth and what was just a nightmare to be chased away.

Groggily, she opened her eyes; her eyelashes fluttered in the bright sunshine. Just a thin beam of the light hit her face, entering through a small window. She frowned in confusion. The circular window was… moving, in some barely discernable way. Her eyes widened as she saw the wood paneling around the window. A fresh smell hit her nostrils. Fresh like… the ocean.

Heart pounding, she whipped her head around to see her surroundings. Her heart stopped completely when she noticed Erik standing in the shadows of the small room they were in. It had to be a cabin on a ship. But she couldn't make sense of how they'd come to be here.

"Where are we?" she asked carefully. She shielded her eyes from the sun in an attempt to see him clearly.

He regarded her steadily for a few moments, and she could see his jaw was clenched taut. "We are on _The Seafarer_; our passage is to England." His voice was tight, his posture stiff.

Gingerly, she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her long brown curls cascaded over her shoulder and fell into her face, and she pushed them back impatiently. His eyes followed the movement, but he seemed angry. The previous night, after she'd chosen to stay with him, he'd discreetly taken her to an inn in Paris, where he'd held her, sang to her until she'd fallen asleep. Now he was stiff, cut off from her. She didn't understand.

"Why would we sail to England?" Her eyes widened. "Surely you don't think they would try to run us out of France!" She would follow Erik anywhere, but she would miss Paris. She would miss his lovingly decorated home underneath the opera house – even the opera house itself. And of course her friends, Meg and Madame Giry. But if it was necessary for them to leave for good, she would; as long as she was with Erik.

"We are sailing to England," he bit out, fury rolling off him in waves, "so that I may return you to your precious Vicomte de Chagny."

Christine's mouth fell open, and she quickly shut it. Raoul had barely been able to leave her with Erik, but at her insistent urging, he had finally gone. Before he'd left, he'd revealed plans to sail for England. In a burst of panic, she asked in a pinched voice, "But Erik, why?"

"You are like an incorrigible child!" he said angrily, stepping toward the bed with menace.

Christine came up to her knees on the bed, her eyes stormy as she faced him down. "You have no right to speak to me in such a way! I, however, have a right to simply ask you why you intend to do this thing." Her voice lowered as she stared at him, pain now in her lovely blue eyes. "Last night you sang me to sleep, Erik. I want to be in your arms every night, as your wife. It's why I chose you. Why would you take me back to Raoul?"

Erik was impressed by her show of spirit; his heart leapt at the progress she was making as a woman, standing up for herself. But his heart was already aching, and he doubted he could stand the pain much longer. He stepped back and away from the light falling across the bed, back into the shadows where he'd been all of his life. She was so beautiful to him there on the bed, hair wild from her slumber, eyes brimming with tears, arms outstretched to him as sunlight hit her face. He couldn't do this to her; he couldn't doom her to a life in the shadows with him.

He didn't meet her eyes as he revealed, "You were calling the Victome's name all night." Drawing in a deep breath, leaning against the wall for support, he continued in a carefully neutral voice, "I had the opportunity to ponder much over the long hours, watching you struggle in nightmares of being pulled away from your young beau. I want you to be happy in life, even if it means a never-ending hell for myself." He turned his face so that she would only be able to see his mask; let that wall shield him and his misery.

Christine rose gracefully from the bed, clutching at her full skirt. He watched out of his periphery as she reached for him so slowly, as if afraid how he would react.

"I cannot believe you would surrender me so easily," she whispered, her voice filled with pain, tears slipping from her beautiful eyes.

Erik swirled away, stalking to the door and exiting in waves of anger.


	2. Aria of Anguish

She didn't like being alone in the cabin, wondering where Erik was, and how he could really let her go. It hurt her to think that he would, but then, she'd done her fair share of hurting him. She was sorry that she'd caused him pain, but she was not going to give him up. After an hour with her worrisome thoughts, she decided to summon all of her gumption and find Erik.

Christine was surprised to find him on deck, out in the sunlight. Too many people were unforgiving of his appearance; even she had been, at one time. Elegantly dressed though he certainly was, the mask made him different. His fedora did a decent job of hiding the mask, however, pulled low over his face as it was. He stood at the very edge of the railing, away from other passengers, and no one seemed to be paying attention to him. With a deep breath, she stepped up to his side, curling her hands around the railing next to his.

A glance up at the uncovered side of his face showed a tic in his clenched jaw, as if he wanted to say something but refrained. She was glad for it. All she needed him to do was listen. But just in case – she was well-acquainted with his temper – she stood staring up at him with narrowed eyes, waiting for him to speak. He continued to stare out at the vast ocean, pretending she wasn't beside him. It hurt her, but it was better than seeing him move away from her.

She stared out at the sea, as Erik did, her hands tightening on the railing. "I had a dream last night," she began, not bothering to look at him and see if he was listening. "It was a lovely dream at first. I was walking down the aisle to your side, and you were smiling, Erik. The way I've seen you do when you are consumed with your music. I reached your side, and you took my hands and kissed them. You told me you loved me, and the ceremony began." She took a deep breath and shivered. "That is also when my nightmare began. The doors opened. The priest looked up and his face was distorted in fear. We turned to the door and there was Raoul, holding a gun pointed straight at your chest. He was shouting furiously at you, threatening you, shaking the gun as he kept creeping down the aisle toward us. I was calling his name, begging him not to do it, begging him not to hurt you. You wouldn't fight him; you wouldn't do anything because I'd made you promise not to hurt him." She reached up to wipe tears from her face. She'd hoped to forget the nightmare, but it was necessary that Erik understand why he'd heard her calling Raoul's name in her sleep. "He shot you… over and over. No matter how much I screamed, he just kept shooting you." She covered her face with her hands and leaned forward on the railing.

"Christine…" Erik's voice was hesitant, his tone apologetic. He reached out to caress her hair, but drew back when he saw her body shake with her sobs.

Christine stood and turned to face him fully, swiping away the tears falling down her face. "I chose you, Erik. I want to be with you. I want that first part of my dream to come true." She shook her head sadly, gazing at him helplessly. "I do not want you to take me to Raoul."

Erik gazed down at her, disbelief etched in his face. He didn't like to see her so upset. The nightmare she'd had was horrendous, and he hadn't meant to make her upset by telling him about it. But he was still unsure. She would do anything to protect de Chagny… he was sure of that. She seemed to truly love Erik, but there was no doubt that she loved the boy as well. He eyed her warily, unsure how to react. If only she truly did want to be with him. He had given her a choice, but it hadn't been much of one. Perhaps his guilt was not allowing him to see her love. He shook his head as if to clear it, his heart conflicted.

"Erik…" Christine reached out to caress his masked cheek, her heart-shaped face full of love.

Erik closed his eyes and turned away from her, pain consuming him. He heard an anguished sob escape her throat, and she twirled around and ran across the deck toward the stairs leading to the cabins.

He didn't deserve her, whether she truly wanted him or whether she was pretending for de Chagny's sake. Erik had to let her go. His life had been nothing but agony until Christine had come along, and he was sure that, instead of her light illuminating his shadows, his shadows would overwhelm her and snuff out her light. He couldn't stand for such to happen. Even if he had to continue in misery for the rest of his days, he would not subject Christine to such a life.


	3. Harmony of Heartache

Erik was hesitant about entering the cabin. He was ashamed he'd let Christine run from him sobbing, but he was hurting, too. He was sure he was some sort of masochist to want to spend any more time with her before he returned her to the Vicomte, but he couldn't bear the thought of her curled up all alone in the cabin. Couldn't bear the thought of waiting out on deck when he would never see her again once they reached England.

He opened the door diffidently, and stepped in without making much sound. The sight before him stole his breath from his lungs, caused his whole body to go rigid. Christine was draped across the bed wrapped in one of his cloaks he'd packed for the trip, and she was caressing it lovingly as if it lived and breathed.

With difficulty, he found his voice to ask, "What are you doing?" He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, not able to take his gaze off her.

Christine's head came up from the bed and she stared at him in surprise, but smiled softly. Her small hands held the cloak tightly to her. "It got chilly," she said quietly, not quite meeting his eyes.

Erik raised a brow as his gaze flicked to the unused blanket underneath her.

Christine bit her lip and shook her head gently, her curls spilling all around her, enchanting him. He'd always loved her hair. "I wanted your scent around me." She pressed her nose to his cloak and breathed in deeply, making his heart stop completely. How many times had he gone into the Louis-Philippe room and inhaled her scent? "With this I could pretend it was your warmth that surrounded me."

He let out the breath he'd been holding, frowning deeply now. "You mustn't say such things, Christine." He rubbed the uncovered side of his face wearily and removed his fedora to toss it where his travel bag lay at the edge of the cabin.

Christine sat up and slipped from the bed gracefully, moving slowly so as not to startle him. She could see his fatigue, was very tired herself, but she was determined to win him back. A good cry had made her more resolute than ever. Gently, she wrapped her hands around his, and brought him to the edge of the bed. She sat, and pulled him to sit next to her. He was stiff, his posture rigid, but she didn't let it deter her.

Her fingers stroked down his arm as she leaned against his side. Ever so gently she caressed his forearm, staring up at his face with her heart in her eyes. "I wish you would believe me for once," she whispered softly.

A harsh laugh empty of any merriment escaped his throat. "Believe you?" He turned his head to look down at her, his onyx eyes glittering dangerously. "Madam, you are very hard to believe. You played me – not to mention that boy – for a fool. First me, then him, and him, then suddenly me. Forgive me if I am not fully persuaded of your passionate words." He closed his eyes, feeling like a wretch, regretting his harshness. He was ever being cruel to his precious Christine. "I apologize," he said quietly, voice low. "You are just a child. You do not know what you want yet."

"I am not a child," Christine returned forcefully, placing her hand on his uncovered cheek to keep his gaze on her. His jaw was, as usual, tight beneath her fingertips. "And I do know what I want. I've told you, Erik, that I want you. I love you. I know I've made mistakes in the past – so have you. I am young, and you know what I've been through since my father passed. It took me the entire ordeal at the opera to come to an understanding, but I have. And what I understand is that I need you in my life, in my heart. And I think Erik, though I'm not trying to be presumptuous, that you need me, too."

Erik gulped as her wide blue eyes spoke the truth of her words. He had been rejected so many times in his life that it was so extremely hard to trust. He loved Christine; he had loved her from the very moment he'd seen her, and his heart was irrevocably hers when he'd heard her sing for the first time. But he was so afraid to trust. Perhaps he was too broken to trust anymore.

He stood and stalked to the door, a tear spilling down over his mask. He wanted to give her everything. He had given her everything… but trust might prove to be just too difficult.

As he stepped from the cabin, closing the door as swiftly as possible in case Christine started crying – he couldn't bear to see her cry – he saw something move in the shadows. Since he had been a shadow himself his entire life, he easily spotted the ruffian hiding in the corner, next to the room. The man was short, with beady eyes and filthy clothes. He was holding a small knife, and he snarled at Erik. He charged, but Erik easily wrapped his hand around the Punjab lasso hidden beneath his cloak and had the man ensnared in the blink of an eye.

He tightened the noose around the man's neck. It was apparent the disgusting man had been waiting to try to get into the room with Christine. It would be ever so easy to strangle him to death… but no. Erik bit out a curse and started dragging the man up the steps to the deck. He would give him to the lawmen on board to deal with. He may not be with Christine much longer, but Erik was determined to be a better man. He'd learned how to kill in his youth to survive. Outside of self-defense, it was murder, and he was tired of the ugly stain of such a thing on his hands.

He was a new man for Christine. Even if he would be returning her to the Vicomte when they reached England.


	4. Polyphony of Passion

Author's Notes: _Thanks for the reviews those few of you have left. Like I said in the beginning, I haven't contributed to the Phantom fandom in ages, and those contributions I made in the past weren't exactly awe-inspiring. This is a very short story which I hope will serve as a springboard for me to write more, and longer, Phantom fics. Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoy!_

C~E~C~E

With no small amount of hesitation, Erik entered the cabin once more. After giving the ruffian on board to the lawmen, he had meandered on the deck, trying to sort out his whirlwind of emotions. It was when he gazed up at the stars and thought of the lullaby he'd sung to Christine numerous times that he stalked back toward their cabin, worried for her safety. Usually, where one ruffian was, another would be. And none would harm his Christine simply because he was too much of a coward to stay with her in the cabin.

Christine was settled beneath the covers, her hair spread out across the pillow. Though he'd known she was safe, he was relieved to find her in such a peaceful state. She was so beautiful, so innocent of all the horrors he'd seen in his life. What had he been thinking, ever putting her in such a position to choose his darkness over the light? She deserved more than a disfigured, murderous monster. But curse it all, he loved her! Loved her with his entire soul, loved her more than his music. He hadn't gone about showing her the right way, but there was no doubt in his mind she was the only woman he would ever love.

Unable to stop himself, he moved toward the bed, his fingertips trailing over the soft blanket under which she was sleeping. Sometimes he believed her nothing but a dream, a lovely, perfect dream that kept him sane. Almost in a trance, completely enchanted by her – nothing unusual – he removed his cloak, letting it drop to the floor, and curled up beside her on the bed. He was not an inch from her, but made sure not to touch her. Even that urge he could not resist for long. His fingers trailed over her long, dark curls, caressing the strands and reveling in the silky feeling of them. He remembered how soft her skin had felt when she'd kissed him. Even though he had heard the opera mob creeping closer, he'd marveled at her fervent kiss, the fact that she was choosing _him_. He had to feel her softness now. He stroked her cheek, and shivering at the smooth feel of her.

Suddenly, her hand wrapped around his wrist. Her stunning blue eyes flew open to look up at him. She was breathing shallowly, her gaze holding his, her thumb stroking his wrist. And then she kissed him.

He'd never felt anything better than her lips on his. One of her hands slipped into his hair, and she melded her body to his, deepening their kiss with such passion he wasn't sure he could breathe. Completely lost to her, he wrapped her in his embrace, pulling her close. Her tongue tentatively touched his as she pressed her body against his insistently, and he gasped into her mouth.

With a groan, he jerked away from her, covering the uncovered side of his face with his hand and rubbing warily. "How can I know you are sincere? You would do anything to protect him. This… this is not necessary for you to keep him safe from me." He struggled to control himself, very near the verge of tears. He hated showing weakness.

But Christine was crying. Her desperate sobs racked her whole body, causing her shoulders to shake. It was such a heartbreaking sound; he felt tears spill down his own cheeks. But before he could say anything, she was clutching at his lapels franticly, startling him.

"Why will you not believe me? I want you, I have told you over and over I chose you, I want you…" She was rambling, clutching wildly at him, her eyes enormous. "How can I show you, Erik?" Her hands began to roam all over his chest, into his suit jacket, as if she were trying to smooth her hands down every inch of him. She leaned forward and pressed fervent kisses to his chin and then his neck, her arms wrapped around him tightly as if she feared he would leap away from her. If he could've found his senses, perhaps he would have. But he was completely taken aback by her show of dedication. He'd seen the way she'd kissed the boy on the roof of the opera. She was kissing Erik differently. Her kiss with the Vicomte had been sweet, so achingly sweet Erik had had to turn away when he saw it. But her kisses with Erik were on a different scale entirely. There was a wildly passionate side to Christine, and he brought it out in her. She moved him with her kisses.

Erik wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly to him. He buried his face in her hair and breathed her in, letting her scent wash over him. He felt like an utter fool. He finally had someone who wanted to be with him, and he had been pushing her away. And he had been willing to let her get away! He wasn't sure he could ever not fear losing her, but he could at least return her love wholeheartedly.

Christine pulled back away from him, staring into his eyes with so much love he was astounded by it. "Won't you let me love you?" she whispered softly. One of her hands cupped the uncovered side of his face, and she lifted her lips to his.

Completely undone, Erik molded their bodies together once more and returned her kiss. Her hands clutched at his back; her legs shifted restlessly underneath the blanket. Instinctively, one of his legs slipped over both of hers in an effort to get even closer to her. She moaned into his mouth, and their tongues dueled fiercely as they grasped at each other.

Yet again, she pulled away from him. Erik hadn't thought it was possible for Christine to be any more beautiful, but he had been wrong. Her face was flushed from their heated kisses, her lips plump and scarlet. Her eyes were slightly glazed but sparkled with happiness. He was so in love with her.

But then she fingered the edge of his mask, and his eyes widened, nostrils flaring with swift anger. He grabbed her wrist in a steel grip, glaring down at her. Amazingly, instead of cringing away from him, she simply pouted prettily up at him.

"I only wish to kiss you deeper, Erik… won't you let me?" She was reaching toward his mask, despite his grip.

He shook his head as if to clear it. He never, ever thought his beloved Christine would be asking to remove his mask so that she could have better access to love him. He wanted to rave at her, insist she was asking for too much from him too quickly, but with that look in her eyes, he found he could deny her nothing. Not even this.

Erik released her wrist, and Christine slowly, reverently slipped the mask off of his face. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and then Erik captured her lips with renewed fervor, feeling his heart burst with happiness such as he had never felt. Christine wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his ardor, melting into him.

After endless moments of tasting each other delightedly, Christine pulled back, a satisfied smile on her face. "That's much better," she said, reaching up to stroke where his mask had been.

Not liking for her to see him without the mask, and eager to taste her again, he leaned forward to resume their kiss. But Christine turned her head to the side, and his lips pressed to the corner of her mouth. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure, confused, but she simply pulled him close, hands on either side of his face, and traced her lips over inch of the ravaged side of his face. Erik expelled a shaky breath, afraid to believe such acceptance could be for him. Tears came to his eyes, and seeing them, Christine hastily took his mouth in a fierce kiss, effectively distracting him.

Christine rolled him onto his back and came out from under the covers, kicking them back and lifting her dress so that she could straddle him. Hands on his chest, she leaned down to kiss his distorted skin, and nibbled on his chin before pressing kisses to his neck. Her fingers deftly untied his cravat and began to unbutton his dress shirt. Erik's eyes screwed shut; he'd never felt such incredible pleasure. His hands wrapped around Christine's thighs beside his waist. He'd never touched her inappropriately before, but she'd started this, and there was only so much he could take. His fingers slipped under her dress, and he stroked the flesh of her thighs, groaning at the warmth and silky feel.

There came a knock on their door and a loud shout of, "Dinner has been prepared!"

Both of them blushing profusely, they struggled away from each other. Erik avoided her eyes, but once she'd settled her dress back into place, she moved to his side of the bed and buttoned up his shirt herself. It moved something within him. He wanted her to do that for him every time he dressed, to be his wife and lovingly attend to him like this. He'd never hoped for such a thing.

He grabbed her upper arms and kissed her gently, then smoothed her hair for her. Offering her his arm with a small smile, which she returned, he led her from the cabin.


	5. Cadence of Commitment

Author's Note: _This was originally intended to be the final chapter to this short story, but since at least one reviewer seemed interested, I will post a sixth chapter with a love scene. _

C~E~C~E

The music surged to a crescendo, filling the cabin with such beautiful sound Christine had to close her eyes. She closed the book she'd been reading and let it rest in her lap. Erik had always been able to affect her so greatly with his music, no matter what instrument he was using. She loved his voice, of course, but would settle for listening to him play the violin. The way his hand wrapped around the instrument, the expert way he strummed it with the bow. She could watch him engrossed in his music for hours, days. He utterly beguiled her – but then, he always had.

She was ecstatic that Erik had recognized the truth of her love in her gaze. She was eager to start her new life with him, have him play for her like this every night of their lives. He'd held her hand all through dinner, and she felt right. Down to her core, she knew they were meant to be together.

The song ended, and Erik crouched down to replace the violin in its case, stroking it almost lovingly before closing the lid. The gesture made Christine shiver.

When he stood and faced her with a shy smile, she spoke hesitantly, "Erik, why have you not…" She blushed, wondering where in the world this was coming from, but realized he had awakened something almost primal within her. "Why haven't you showed me that you love me?"

She was blushing so prettily; Erik blushed himself. He understood what she was asking, and it made him tremble – not just from nerves, but from arousal. She wanted his attentions; craved them, if the look in her eyes was any indication. Summoning all of his self-control, he moved to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. He took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles, and continued caressing her fingers as he tried to find the words to explain.

"I did not want your first time to be in so crude a place." He didn't look at her, but from the corner of his eye he could see her smile. Her fingers squeezed around hers. "You deserve silk, candlelight, roses…" He shook his head, feeling foolish for saying such things, even if he did believe them. If Raoul had never come along, and he had eventually revealed himself to her and wooed her gently to him, he would've given her a night to remember for her first time. Now that they were actually going to be together, he wouldn't be satisfied until he'd given her such things.

Her small hand slid up his arm to his shoulder, and then on up to cup his cheek. "I love you," she whispered. She lifted to kiss his cheek, and then settled back down onto the bed, once more opening her book.

Erik sat beside her, just watching her, in awe of her. She was everything to him, and she was going to remain by his side. Despite everything he'd done, everything he was… despite his horrendous face, she loved him, and wanted to be with him. Looking at her, feeling his heart constrict with his love for her, he knew there was only one thing left to do.

He knelt by the edge of the bed, and she lowered her book to gaze at him curiously. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she set her book to the side when he motioned for her hands. With her palms warm in his own, he spoke.

"I am a new man because of you, Christine. Your love has made me whole." He slipped off the ring he wore on his pinky finger, thinking it would have to do for now. "I gave you this once before, but I know I didn't deserve to ask… I don't even deserve to ask now. But Christine, my sweet Christine," he murmured, his voice lowered. He slipped the ring on her left ring finger, holding her palm to his heart. "Will you be my wife?"

Quite unexpectedly, Christine threw back her head and laughed. The sound was joyous, blissful, but it still unnerved Erik. He felt unsure, self-conscious, which didn't last long, as Christine leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, then brushed her lips across his.

"I was under the impression, after I chose you, that we were already engaged." She smiled so beatifically his heart pounded. Her fingers stroked over his mask. Her voice lowered to a sultry whisper. "And I cannot wait for our wedding night."

Erik grinned, unable to help himself. It transformed him, made him appear so much younger, made the lines of pain around his face disappear. It was the first time she'd ever seen him do such a thing, and it took Christine's breath away. She leaned forward, her embrace tightening, so overwhelmed with happiness that she had her angel.

She realized then that the ship wasn't as unsteady as it had been, was going at a much slower pace than before. She pulled away just as loud voices out in the hall and up on deck could be heard shouting, "We're pulling into port!" She gazed into Erik's dark eyes, holding tight onto his shoulders, worry creeping into her expression.

Erik, hands at her waist squeezing gently, murmured, "I do not think there's any need for us to leave this ship."

A radiant smile broke out across Christine's face, and she held him to her once more, eager to return to France and begin their life together.


	6. Encore of Enchantment

Candlelight flickered around the room, bouncing off the walls and highlighting Christine's sparkling white wedding gown. There was a trail of red rose petals leading along the floor leading from the door to the bed, and on the bed lay a pool of the petals, so dark red they appeared black against the black silk sheets.

Christine stood gaping at the threshold of Erik's bedroom. Once she'd come in here and seen a coffin, and ever since had been utterly terrified of the room. Now, it was completely transformed into some magical place for their first night as a married couple, and the significance of the changes took Christine's breath away. She turned to Erik with her lips slightly parted, awed by what he'd done. Her bright blue eyes seemed dark, but a light shone out of them as she gazed at her new husband. A heady anticipation rocked through her, tightening her nipples and creating a liquid heat between her thighs.

"Erik," she said his name breathlessly, reaching out toward him.

He took her hands in his, and brought them to his mouth so that he could brush his lips across her knuckles. His gaze didn't leave hers. His obsidian eyes glittered with desire, a desire he didn't attempt to hide from her anymore.

"This is magnificent." She glanced around the room again, a smile blossoming on her face. "_You_ are magnificent," she murmured, sliding her hands out of his so that she could place them on his chest. She stood on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss along his jaw.

Erik's hands curled around her upper arms. He pulled her tightly against him so that their bodies melded, and held her still as he captured her lips in his own. She went boneless, pliant against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and deepening their kiss eagerly. Her hands played with the ends of his dark hair, and Erik pulled her even closer, his arms tight around her waist.

"Take it off," Christine pleaded as she ended their passionate kiss. She fingered the edge of his mask with a determined look in her beautiful eyes.

"As you wish, Christine." When it came to kissing him, Erik found that Christine was intent in having his mask off. Miraculously, she enjoyed caressing his face, but moreover she loved her kisses deep and nearly endless. Not nervous in the least, and reveling in it, Erik slipped the mask off his face and placed it on the chest of drawers on the far wall.

When he was before her once more, Christine used his shoulders to lift herself up to his height and press loving kisses to every bit of his distorted skin. She rested back flat on her feet, and her nimble fingers started on the buttons of his suit jacket. Erik swept her hair back from her shoulders, and he rested her hands on her upper back, toying with the buttons to her gown.

"You first," she whispered, trying to sound stern. But she'd managed to unbutton his dress shirt, and was spreading the material wide to expose his chest, and she was quite breathless. She slid her hands underneath the shirt and lifted in off his shoulders and down his arms; his nice dress clothes were forgotten on the floor. Christine stepped toward him, her eyes devouring him. His chest was smooth, muscled, and the candlelight gleamed off his pale skin. Faded scars indicating his traumatic youth ran over his torso and hips, and the worse ones curved around to his back.

Unable to resist, Christine leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his skin. She nibbled along his collarbone while her forefinger swirled around his nipple, quickly followed by her tongue. He groaned softly, and it was a sound to rival his music. Impatiently, Christine started on his trousers, slipping the buttons free easily and dragging them down his hips. She knelt to help him step out of them, and continued to kneel before him when his feet were free, her breath caught in her throat as she gazed up his body.

At times, when she'd been kissing Erik, and even back when she'd been with Raoul, she'd felt his arousal pressed against her, but she'd had no idea the male form could be anything like this. His shaft was standing up straight and proud, and she could feel herself gaping at the sight. When she curiously ran a finger down his length, it jerked against his belly, and a startled choking noise came out of Erik's throat. Christine's wide eyes met his, and he reached down and caught her underneath her arms, bringing her to stand before him once more.

"My turn," he murmured low in his throat, and she shivered with excitement. He circled her like a great big predator, and came up behind her. He lifted her heavy curls and placed them across her left shoulder, and his fingers didn't waste any time unhooking her dress. Off came the beautiful gown, and Erik made quick work of her underthings.

Christine couldn't see him, his reaction, but she could feel his hot breath caressing her neck and back. A low hum of pleasure started in his throat, and Christine gasped as his deft fingers trailed over her buttocks. His hands held onto her hips, and he pressed the top of his head in between her shoulder blades. His head ran down the length of her spine, and when the top of his head rested in the small of her back, his lips caressed the smooth skin of her bottom. His grip on her waist tightened when she gasped softly and tried to turn. He continued his exploration, his tongue laving the dimples in the lowest part of her back, his fingers trailing along the backs of her thighs.

With an impatient whimper, Christine whirled around and cupped his face in her hands, bending to kiss him. He rose as she straightened, and his hands slid up the curve of her waist to her ribcage. His fingertips teased the undersides of her breasts, and Christine moaned and pressed her upper body into his. Her hardened nipples rasped against the light dusting of hair on his chest, making both of them moan.

Erik crouched and swung her up into his arms, moving with urgency toward the bed. He settled her on top of the roses and silk sheets, his hands smoothing down her body reverently. She opened her arms, beckoning him to her, her thighs parted to cradle him. Overcome with love for her, wonder that she was his wife, he rested in between her lips, groaning at the feel of their naked skin pressed tightly together.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she arched her hips toward his, wordlessly pleading for him to take her. He smoothed back the hair from her face, and they shared a heated kiss as he thrust into her. He froze, struggling to control the tremor that started throughout his whole body as her tight heat bore down on his shaft. Christine's eyes were shut tight, her nails digging into his shoulders, breathing shallowly. Not trusting himself to speak, but wanting to comfort her, Erik stroked her cheekbones with gentle fingers, and scattered kisses along her jaw and chin.

"I love you," he murmured against her throat, and withdrew from her just to surge back into her heat again.

Christine's head tilted back, pleasure taking over as the pain subsided. She whimpered, "I love you, too," and lifted her hips to meet his as he thrust again.

Their lovemaking was slow, tender, and it was the most beautiful thing Erik had ever been a part of as they spiraled out of control together. Christine called his name, and her inner muscles clenched tightly around him. He took her mouth in a bruising kiss as he released inside her.

"Oh, Christine," he murmured against her mouth, his hands stroking her face lovingly. He collapsed on top of her, and as she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, accepting his weight, he felt truly whole for the first time in his long life.


End file.
